


Andromache's Bookseller

by jessikast



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Andy buys a book, Crowley is aghast at Aziraphale's friends, Fluff, Gen, Gen although they're OBVIOUSLY Ineffable Husbands, I feel like my Andy characterisation may not be QUITE world-weary enough, Let's pretend that anyone in Aziraphale's presence is happier than usual okay?, Post-Good Omens series, Pre-The Old Guard movie, Retail Therapy, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25260124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessikast/pseuds/jessikast
Summary: A tidbit about where Andy acquired that first-edition Don Quixote.(Surely an immortal warrior has an equally long-standing go-to favourite bookshop in London?)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 727





	Andromache's Bookseller

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd - I was just charmed at the idea that mumble-thousand year old Andy is acquainted with six-thousand-year-old Aziraphale and may even, perhaps, be permitted to acquire books from A.Z. Fell & Co Booksellers.
> 
> I'm sure that there's a longer fic in there if you want to delve into the actual origins of the immortality and if God has a hand in it and what overlap there may be with angels and demons but...this is not this fic. This is me getting this scene onto the page and presenting it, raw and probably with typos, to the world. (Where the world is AO3).
> 
> I've marked it gen, even though to my mind Aziraphale and Crowley are, forever and always, Ineffable Husbands, because this particular fic doesn't include anything obviously couple-y.

Crowley watched the transaction with increasing bafflement. It had started off normal enough - a so-called customer browsing the bookstore, Aziraphale firmly ignoring them, customer bringing a book to the counter, Aziraphale not even bothering to look up as he said "Sorry, that particular volume isn't available for sale today."

This was where it went off-script. The attractive, dark-haired woman (whose black-on-black outfit _did_ win Crowley's gruding approval) hadn't seemed surprised, just amused. She raised one sardonic eyebrow and leaned over the counter. "How about a trade? I think I can make it worth your while."

Aziraphale had looked up sharply, looking surprised and pleased. "Oh, Andromache, my dear! It's been too long. I'm sure we can arrange something for...a first edition Don Quixote? Oh, ah..." He trailed off, reluctant, before gathering himself again. "Crowley, did you ever meet Andromache?"

"Um?" said Crowley, hauling himself off the couch where he had been very comfortably lounging and contemplating what vintage of vino best complemented a lazy afternoon.

"Surely you've crossed paths, she always seems to end up somewhere in those grubby little wars that your side loved to give you credit for."

"Can't...can't say I've had the pleasure," said Crowley. He made a determined attempt to regather his _coolness_ but it seemed like all the "I'm too sexy for my tight black jeans" energy in the room was spoken for by the woman at the counter. Damnit.

Meanwhile, Andromache was looking at him with delight. "What, this is Crowley? After all this time, I finally get to see your fav-"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Aziraphale. "It seems introductions are in order! Andromache-"

"I'm going by Andy at the moment."

"-Andy, that's nice, very modern! - this is my good friend Crowley. Oh Crowley, don't make that noise, she's not going to tell my side or yours if we're...fraternising. Crowley, this is Andy. She's been around for _quite_ a while. Really, you must have heard of her. Andromache the Scythian? Seems like the kind of thing your side would-"

Aziraphale broke off, to frown in bewilderment at Crowley's _entirely sensible_ reaction which involved simultaneously flailing backward, attempting to make a leap behind the couch, and the very snakish urge to find somewhere small and dark and safe to curl up in.

Andy just grinned. "Maybe we have met? That seems like maybe we've met."

"Only by reputation," wheezed Crowley, peering over the back of the sofa. "Sorry, but the name _does_ ring a bell. She has an axe which is...rather well known. On my side. Caused a lot of annoying discorporations. The kind of thing little demons whisper about to each other after the lights go out."

"Well, well! That's lovely to hear. Of course, I still don't believe in-" Andy broke off to wave her fingers vaguely upward with the air of a long-standing debate.

Aziraphale patted her hand comfortingly. "Quite all right. We still believe in you, after all! Now, did you say- Oh, Crowley, do come out from behind the sofa, that's just undignified. No-one's discorporating - or temporarily inconveniencing - anyone in _my_ shop! - Did you say you wanted to trade something? Of course I'd be loath to let this out of my hands, but I suppose if it's _you_..."

Wordlessly, Andy reached into her backpack and brought out a bundle of papers tied with a faded and fraying red ribbon, laying it on the counter. "Had this lying around, thought you might appreciate it. Second draft, you can see where it's been neatly copied but then he's gone back through and made changes..."

Aziraphale made a delighted gasp, then tutted. "Look at the state of this! You just had it _lying around_ in that musty old cave of yours, I suppose. It's a wonder the paper's not falling apart! Well, I think perhaps we'd better make that trade, I simply _cannot_ in good conscience leave this in your hands. I daresay it needs temperature controls, oh where are my gloves..?" Aziraphale, carrying the manuscript with utmost care, bustled over to his work desk, muttering imprecations about immortals who didn't understand the effect of humidity on paper, happily absorbed in his new acquisition.[ ****](https://www.google.co.nz/search?q=conscience&spell=1&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjhvKenxszqAhX5zzgGHXIdByUQkeECKAB6BAgUECk)

Andy picked up the Don Quixote. "I'll just...take this then, shall I?" Aziraphale waved a permissive hand in her direction. She winked at Crowley, who shuddered. "I'll stop in again next time I'm in London. You still owe me a drink from the 1850s." She paused, and smirked at Crowley as she walked back towards the door, tucking the volume in her backpack. "Bring your friend. He looks like he'd be fun." 

Crowley mustered a weak wave as - to his relief - the door closed behind Andy. Andromache the _Fucking_ Scythian. Demons trembled in fear of those immortal mercenaries - who had an unerring talent for ending up on the 'killing demons' side of any conflict - and Aziraphale was having tea with the worst of them.

Crowley decided that it wasn't a wine afternoon, after all. It would be complemented with a 'large bottle of whiskey, never mind what label it is, whichever's closest". _Andromache_. Bleeding heaven.


End file.
